Thursday, May 22, 2014

Channel Trailer

It's the Daily How to, with David Tieck: Now Semi Daily. There is really no way this should take any time at all to make clear. It's a very simple concept, and it's a concept I execute with a level of excellence and professionalism that it seldom scene in this part of the woods, by which I mean the internet, which counts as woods, because all the storage space needed to file all the stuff people upload, and house all the staff to quickly pop it in the DVD player over at Google's head Microsoft warehouse took up a lot of space, so they cut down all the woods. By the way, remember how hoverboards from Back to the future 2 didn't work on water, well now because of global warming we're all about 6 months away from the whole earth being water, so hoverboards are going to be useless, unlike this show which is very useful, and easy to understand, and get across and easy to explain without a lot of unnecessary beating around the bush, wait another fucking tree metaphor? This is bullshit. I think you get the point, you've all seen the show hundreds of times, if not thousands, like you've probably seen the show at least once for every tree in the forest, which actually explains why I keep accidentally using those metaphors, so yeah, I'll run with that, I won't waste anytime at all, I'll just keep it simple, pointed, concise, and with the fat trimmed, with no needs to paint a picture, or over analyze, it's just very simple, and obvious  - this show is like lots of trees.


How to pay men like that to talk

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Things you might not know about the neck

I woke up with a fucked neck yesterday. Really fucked. As in I’m in owys and I don’t like being in owys, boo me. Also I went to the chiropractor today, well known as the most trustworthy and honest of all medical practitioners (in stark contrast to the filthy lying pediatricians – they say having kids is a good idea, yeah right!) and the chiropractor says I might not be a hundred percent right for six weeks. Good god, I’m walking around like a fucking rusty robot (which is also the name of an awesome sex move I invented, it’s basically a rusty trombone with flawless math skills).

In better news, while I was at the chiropractor I learned some surprising facts about the neck that most people probably don’t know. Such as:

-       Surprisingly, when you hurt it, it’s owy.
-       Really owy.
-        I’ve been forced to stand and sit with my head hung in shame because it’s the most comfortable position, but it turns out when you put your body in that position all day it can dampen your mood.
-       Being owy can also dampen your mood.
-       Being owy is nowhere near as highly respected as being owly.
-       Being owy is also far less advantageous than being owly in helping you get away with eating small mice in public.
-       Jellyfish don’t have necks and yet are probably the most gregarious thing in the ocean.
-       Neanderthal Man’s neck was often owy, hence why they never figured out complex solutions to problematical issues instigated from the lack of fully developed brain.
-       It’s the bottle, rather than the neck, which create the ‘excitement’ in a traffic bottleneck conundrum (the neck only creates stupid ‘delightment).
-       The word gregarious is fun to say.
-       No one who was born without a neck has ever won the X-factor, although three neckless people have won ‘cutest freak’ at the Bungarra NSW local fair (or as the locals call it ‘cutest local’). 
-       A jellyfish and a woman can create a baby with a neck, but a man and a jellyfish cannot, because clearly jellyfish are sexist.
-       Necks don’t like being whacked with oars, it hurts their feelings.
-       If you can remove a human’s neck with your bare hands without spilling a drop of blood you’re probably a neat freak.

Alright I gots to go, I’m owy. Have I mentioned yet that I’m owy? I hate being owy. Oh man, I wish I was owly :( 

Monday, May 12, 2014

Ready to take requests?

All right, all right every body, I've reached the time of the night, and the section of the show, where I am ready to take requests.

Now I know what you’re thinking; you’re thinking that this means that I'm out of ideas, and that I don't have the ability to plan out a full well structured set, and that I'm some kind of fucking loser that needs his audience to plan his show for him, and that obviously I suffer from some sort of lack of confidence in my own artistic output to the point where I need to make up excuses to recite other peoples artistic output, but as requested from you, so it doesn't look like I have any doubts in my mind about what to do, but rather that I'm so happy about my direction in life that I'm happy to give the glory to others ok? I’m right aren’t I? 

Well fuck you, because I don’t want you to think that. Not for one second. I am not that narcissistic. I don’t need to be in complete control all the time. I don't always need to be both the performer and the writer. I am well capable of doing covers while still satisfying by own artistic desires. I mean for example I also like to show off my epic ability to memorize other people’s stuff. Memorization is a genuine skill. So don’t you dare accuse me of taking the easy road by doing something I didn’t write myself. I mean, I want to honor other peoples stuff, and I can’t honor it unless I also perform it brilliantly, which will require me to have memorized it well, there is a lot of skill in these talents, and that’s why this is still MY show, and why it’s still my name on the marquee, even though I am now planning on doing material I did not write, but it’s still mine, ok? So no accusations please? Ok. 

I mean this is live poetry people, and there is no fucking room for insecurity in this game, so why would you accuse me of being insecure about the fact I am going to turn to words written by another. Us poets are blessed with both confidence and respect for our fellow artists, well at least I am. I am very blessed in both those departments. The request part of my show has nothing to do with a lack of confidence or respect, and definitely is not a sign I possess any insecurity, because I don’t.

I mean check this out:

Surprised was the desperate man
Awed by the sweet opulence
Like a handful of virgin sand
He had no lack of self confidence

Yes motherfucker, I JUST improvised that poem now! Or did I? Maybe it's the most famous poem ever written about sand, yet you don't know, because you don't know anywhere near as much about poetry as me - that could be the Mona Lisa of poetry for all YOU know. But I know, cause I know this game.

Just for the record, that was me. I just improvised that; it wasn’t even like a poem I pre-wrote. But you probably, given that I am explaining to you how there is nothing wrong with doing a poem written by someone else, guessed that it was actually the Mona Lisa of sand referencing poetry, so as far as your knowledge of poetry goes I've proven I'm the Leonardo Di Vinci of poetry - so don't you dare judge me on taking requests rather than continuing on with my own pre-planned stuff. And don’t you accuse me of having doubts about my ability. Most poets, as you now know, aren't as iconically brilliant as me, and I'm trying to give a leg up to the strugglers for god sake by performing some of their poems, as requested by you.

I mean check this out:

I was in Iran that afternoon
I never even entered the saloon
But I was parched
Maybe my car was poorly parked

Well known genius who will be honored for ever? Or something I just improvised?

I'll give you a minute to think ...


It was BOTH!!!

So fuck you for suggesting I shouldn't take requests – I mean seriously fuck you. Plus, again, that was an improvised poem, right in the moment, so not even as good as I can be, if I have time to structure, and choose my words carefully. And it was still brilliant. So I've already PROVEN that I can improvise epically brilliant poems that will be remembered forever, so why would taking requests undermine that? My stuff is excellent. I am not trying to avoid it at all.

I mean, wait:

Empty like an empty vase devoid of flowers
Or like a powerless man who's devoid of powers
Or like, like an unshowerd man who hasn't had a shower
If I lived up high I’d hope it was in a tower

I mean that's utterly genius, and I literally just came up with it, like on the spot - so I don't need to take requests - I choose too. I think every line of that rhymed too. Did anyone remember exactly what I said? I should record this stuff as I say it into this microphone, you don’t want to forget genius stuff that you improvise in front of an audience. And yet, of course I already have plenty of stuff I’ve written to fill more than a whole show. I am not reaching for material at all.

So come on, yell out a request or two. Not that I need you too. I could fill the rest of this show with my own poems easily. EASILY.

You know what? I’m sensing a lack of enthusiasm from you people, for yelling out requests. You can't think of a poem as good as my poems to request can you? That's what's holding you back isn't it? You’re thinking ‘sure this guy is very secure in his own abilities, and yet also wants to honor other poets by showing off how well he can memorize and then perform their poems, and this in no way signifies that he has any lack of confidence in the poems he has written himself, which he is choosing not to recite, to instead take requests, but I just can’t think of any poems by anyone that are better than the ones he just improvises on the spot, let alone how good they may be if he took the time to sculpt them in poetic perfection?’

Wow. That’s what you are thinking isn’t it? Wait, you know it occurs to me that this means I'm officially your favorite poet! I mean if you can’t think of a poem you’d like me to perform that you consider better than those ones I just improvised, then clearly that means I am your favorite. And not just of this era, but of all time, because I just asked for requests, not even for contemporary requests, or within a familiar genre. Aww man, shucks, that's awesome - you guys rule,

Wait, people. Seriously that makes me happy. You know what? Instead of taking a request now, why don’t I improvise something for you, like special just for you guys:

You are all really awesome
Like a diseases free possum
You all love me so much
I want to drive a car with a clutch

Yes, I did! I just improvised that RIGHT now, for you! You’re so welcome, and you know what? I've learned something today; you people don’t want me to do a request section of my show. You just want me. And I’ll honor your wishes. I may never, even take requests again. Thank you all.

And that’s all the time I have left sadly. I hope you liked my show? You did didn’t you? Come again one day please. Not that I need you too, I’ll sell tickets regardless, I’m sure. So I assume you’ll all rush out to buy them to avoid missing out. Wow. A sell out. Thanks.  

Good night.
Follow the exit light.

Wait, I didn’t even mean to make that a poem. Wow. I AM good.

Monday, May 5, 2014

How to do a first episode of your new brilliant You Tube show

Here's a joke for you

Q- what do you call a shark that's gotten lost and then been saved by you, yet is now epically taking up your tub space AND table salt supplies, while also being a surprisingly good friend?

A- whatever it's name is!


Saturday, May 3, 2014

And now signs that the bottom of your cannon may need a scrub

I know what your thinking, 'I own an awesome cannon, but how do I know if the bottom may need a scrub?'

Fear not, my fellow canon owners, by which I assume I mean all of you - here are some very simple signs that have the ability to signify to you that it is time to get down and scrub that beautiful cannon bottom of yours:

- it's a really old cannon
- your cannon was a gift from an new foe who was a former friend until you discovered all his gifts had a part of them that needed scrubbing
- your cannon is currently half submerged in a mud-rat riddled swamp
- you're a not currently a clean freak
- you've never sworn your allegiance to the master of the under cleaners, by which in mean you tip your maids poorly
- you have a filthy mind, and your cannon is imaginary ha ha, like anyone has a dirty mind and yet doesn't have a real cannon
- you like to bounce dirty balls on the floor in your cannon room
- you're a believer of the phrase 'smile at a partridge, smell a brown sided tree, never meet a bald witch, and the bottom of your cannon probably needs a scrub' and you've been smiling and smelling when you should have been meeting
- the rest of your cannon needs a scrub - I mean who ONLY scrubs the bottom
- the bottom of your canon looks dirty

How did you all fair? Ya scrubbing or not? I'm not, my canon is spotless. I HAVE sworn an allegiance to the master of the under cleaners, that's right she's real! So you better start tipping your maids right you bastards!

Thursday, May 1, 2014

An experiment of cleanliness in all it's extravagant excellence

I have made a decision, right now, to write a clean blog. A totally, completely, unquestionably clean blog. A blog completely absent of filth, controversial themes, naughty words, or even my usual favorite, downright psychotic imagery.

‘Why the fuck do you want to do that?’ I hear you ask.

And I must say, please don’t think swear words at me, I mean normally you can think any sort of swear word you want at me, dick, cunt, shithead, cocksucker, hemorrhoid ravaged anus – you can think any or all of these things in my direction, anytime. I don’t care at all; they are all devoid of any crudeness or ability to offend to me. I see and hear billions of words all the time, I really don’t give a shi.. I mean crap, about which is which. Except today. Because today, and right now, I am going to write a clean blog (I first misspelled ‘write’ with the incorrect ‘right’ which tells me that my sub-conscience thinks this idea is on the ‘correct’ or maybe even ‘write’ path. Wait if ‘right’ means ‘correct’, shouldn’t we also be able to substitute ‘write’ with ‘wcorect’?)

‘Why?’ I hear you ask.

And I must say thank you, for editing your question down to its bare essence, devoid of the type of curses and swears often used in such times. And thanks to your well-asked question, I will now tell you why.

You see, as some of you may know, in the past couple of weeks, after a three or four year absence, I have made a sudden and triumphant return to the world of stand-up comedy. And it was during my last set, in the midst of play-acting a wonderfully accurate portrayal of medieval Great Brittan, while highlighting the history I assume my ancestors have with fucking pigs, that I thought to myself 'oh, fuck, I'm doing really dirty shit again'. My two sets the week before this set, just to give one more example, had been highlighted with an in depth discussion of bloody diareah. And I didn’t mean to set down that rocky highway. I’m not a shock comedian who forces laughs with grossness rather than wit, I’m a pre-ordained future comedic genius, so I should be able to get laughs without referencing shitting chicks, to give another example of the filth I have been talking about.

Now, just to be clear, I am not denouncing this material. Did I enjoy bloody dirareh? Of course. I bloody enjoyed the hell out of it. I squeezed it for all the hilarity I could ooze from it, and it was vivid, and relatable and funny and fun to do. Am I done with bloody dierah? Of course not, I have a lot of bloody dierah in my future - possibly even in my comedy - zing. Bloody direaheah got laughs, and so you can sure as hell trust that bloody dierah will return to my act. However the point is I don't want to just be the bloody direaheah guy. Apart from anything, I just can't spell that damn word no matter how many times I try.

In my fear, and desperation to re-launch with a bang, I shied away from my more clever, subtler, wittier, more absurd and surreal type of humor, which I actually prefer way more, and instead decided for some reason to just be the grossest human being possible, with a threat that if the audience didn’t laugh I may make them shake my hand after. But then, having started down this path, I am finding my journey back into the irreverent territory I dream of is becoming way harder to find that I hoped.

 Which brings me back to this blog. It's time, at least in the short term, to work on some cleaner, less visually revolting material. It’s time to just to really see if I can remember how to write things based around absurdist takes on what are usually very tame or even typically mundane experiences. And I'm sure that old muscle of mine will shift into gear, and any second from now, I’ll think of something very routine and I'll suddenly let fly:

Remember the last time you ate a carrot and you tried to convince yourself for a little while that by not peeling it you were doing both yourself and the carrot a favor - and that just because the outside of this carrot was the very part of the carrot which was adjacent and even squirming it's way through the dirt, doesn't mean that it can't get properly clean. And how you’re pretty much sure that any worms that came and said G'day to the carrot over the course of the carrot’s growth period were surely not the same ones who just a day early were helping to decompose a rotting skunk carcass. And even if they were, worms don't eat skunk scrotum and then wiggle over to the carrot patch and spit it on the carrot. And even if they do, why would spat up dead skunk scrotum be any different to wash off than dirt? I mean it might be? Maybe spat up skunk scrotum has gone through a physical metamorphosis allowing it to penetrate the skin of a carrot in a way rendering it unable to be washed off? I mean how much do you really know about worm spit or skunk scrotum, let alone the combination of them both? But still, would peeling it help? Maybe the entire carrot is now infected. It almost certainly is. So why go to all the effort to peel it, I mean who has the time? And besides why didn't who ever bought these carrots, instead buy the pre-washed pre-peeled ones - your roommate must be a cheap bastard, but you've noticed that when you buy the pre-washed pre-peeled ones, he doesn't complain - he eats them with not even a suggestion of why the spat up skunk scrotum ones are his purchase of choice. You'd think if those were the ones YOU chose you'd at least say something right? So maybe he knows something you don't, maybe he's actually broken down the science of it and concluded that your suspicions are in fact correct and all carrots are absolutely riddled with all types of worm spat up animal scrotums, and therefore peeling IS irrelevant and yet pre-peeled and washed does save you a couple of seconds of cleaning off the very removable dirt grime, but still you knew this you bastard roommate and you never told me? Plus why the hell do we still eat so many carrots around in this apartment? I heard scientists have retracted their claim that these things are good for your eyes anyway. Fucking scientists.

In my fantasy I would reach the end of the observational section of this beautifully clean and filth free typical day to day problem with eating a healthy vegetable, and then after getting all the facts out of the way, as I have done above, all the undeniable observational truths which we all live with every time we eat a carrot, I would then, just to blow people’s minds, now get that clean yet cheeky muscle to tighten and bulge and add a bunch of now made up facts about trying to eat a carrot. Stuff that not everyone experiences, and yet can totally imagine, because of how subtly witty I slide it in, almost like I’m still talking about the stuff we all know about, making you think maybe you do actually think about this stuff also, possibly even with a satirical bent or even ironical flashes, furthering the experience of a typical carrot eating in a comedically heightened way.

But alas my muscle sits weak. Fuck me, I can’t think of god damn hemoroid ravaged anus thing. Oh fuc… I mean screw it. I guess I'll leave it merely with the observational facts, and just be happy with myself that I fulfilled my wish and wrote a piece with not one filthy joke. Oh, and if possible, come check out some of my stand-up, I have a feeling I am going to book a lot of gigs soon, either that or I’ll totally make the booking people shake my hand. I might even talk about bloody diar.. direah, dirarg – jesus fucking Christ that word is a cunt to spell.